


Addictive

by bemusedlybespectacled (ardentintoxication)



Series: Hayffie Challenge Daily Prompts [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hayffie, Prompt Fic, Quintuple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentintoxication/pseuds/bemusedlybespectacled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt "<a href="http://hayffiechallenge.tumblr.com/post/21435794353/daily-prompt-1-guilty-pleasures">guilty pleasures.</a>" "'Celebrating' isn't passing a bottle back and forth."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addictive

The first time Effie drinks hard liquor - not wine, not a prettily colored cocktail with a matching umbrella - she feels the rush down her throat and tries not to gag. It's too strong, too fast, and most certainly not Capitol approved. But then her veins cool down and her eyes stop watering and well, it wasn't that bad, not really. And it's alright to loosen up just this once. She needs it.

She moves her glass towards him and his eyebrows shoot up almost to his hairline, but he pours her another shot. This one is easier to swallow (in part, she thinks, because her tongue is already numb) and she feels the warmth in her veins again.

She shouldn't be doing this, and she tells him so.

"I have to talk to the press in the morning," she says in a voice that cracks slightly, "and it's going to be much harder to handle them if I'm hungover from drinking with you at two in the morning the night before."

"Tell them you were celebrating," rumbles Haymitch. "They'll buy that."

She laughs, and somehow it's easier to laugh with two shots in her. "Is that what this is? Celebrating?" There are parties going on, she knows, in honor of the Victors. People have lit coal fires on their rooftops and are eating cakes decorated like riverbanks. That's not what this is.

"Must be," says Haymitch. "We're drinking, aren't we?"

"'Celebrating' isn't passing a bottle back and forth."

"I don't hear you complainin'."

"I'm just saying-"

"What is there for you to complain about?" shouts Haymitch, and he stands up surprisingly quickly for someone who's had more than four times the amount of alcohol she's had. "You have to deal with the press in the morning, but they have to deal with the Games for the rest of their lives!" He rubs the corners of his eyes. Quieter, he says, "Peeta's going to lose his leg. Did they tell you that?"

She gasps a bit - of course finding out that Peeta isn't going to be perfect after this is going to be a bit shocking - but she catches herself. "Oh, don't worry. The Capitol has the best medical technology available. I'm sure they'll fit him with a prosthetic and he'll be good as new."

Haymitch laughs, but it isn't a real one. "In the Capitol, I'm sure having a fake leg is exactly the same as having a real one. Nothing to miss, really, when you don't use them to start with." She doesn't know what he's talking about, but she doesn't think he's talking about Peeta anymore. "Honestly, I don't know why I bother trying to talk to you."

"Well, why do you?" That last line hurt her feelings more than she'll admit.

He sits down, pours himself another drink. "Guess it's the same as drinking," he says.

"What is?"

"You."

She's too drunk to try to make sense of him, so she touches his hand instead.

It's warm.


End file.
